


Lacing lessons

by siberianchan



Series: Sing for me [5]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Bonding, Corsetry, F/F, Friendship, Gen, Sing for me, Yuuri Katsuki is wearing a corset, and for a dramatic change, and gets lessons how to put it on properly, it doesn't lead to sex, side story to, sorry about that, the adorable lesbians and the awkward gay guy are becoming friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 13:16:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15244200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siberianchan/pseuds/siberianchan
Summary: Mila had threatened Yuuri with some lacing lessons. Time to make good of that threat. A small, fluffy, piece of cotton candy to read, if you want to see it that way.





	Lacing lessons

**Author's Note:**

> Since my beta is on vacation - no Sing For Me chapter today. Have some bonus instead and enjoy Mila's and Sara's life. (I want a snarky house keeper.)

Lacing lessons – A Sing for  story

 

With Berthalda and Huldbrandt declaring their ongoing love for one another today’s rehearsals ended and Mila softly sighed in relief.

August Stadler was a fine singer, a good partner on stage for her and he never treated her with anything than polite respect and sometimes even something like warmth. She still couldn't bring herself to like him, mainly because she on principle didn't like anyone who didn't share her opinion about Sara Crispino and worshipped the very ground the woman walked on. Then again, Mila herself had stopped worshipping both Sara and the ground, her lovely little feet touched the moment she had actually started loving her, so this was more of a figure of speech. In any case, she nodded a polite goodbye to him and then a rather more friendly one to Andreas Kästner, mainly because he – like Yuuri – had the good sense to treat both her and Sara with all the adoring respect they both deserved. Also, he was friends with Yuuri and she quite liked Yuuri. He was almost as fun to tease as the other Yuri they had, although his reactions consisted more of blushing and nervous sputtering, rather than throwing fits that would have made any alley cat envious.

In any case, it was Sara she linked her arm with now, a nice homage to the sisterhood that should have bound Undine and Berthalda together. Of course, the opera went very differently, but that had never stopped them from enacting this little fact during rehearsal, much to Mr Feltsman's woe. It was probably a good thing that he liked them both very much and appreciated their talent or he would have long since given them a severe dressing down.

As it was he only sighed in resignation as he saw them, but let them be.

They passed by Yuuri, leaning next to a beam, breathing deeply and – thank goodness – without company nearby. Even Yuri Plisetsky had taken a short break from his newest habit of being quite attached to him.

He had had a few mess-ups today, nothing serious, a missed note, a forgotten word, but as usual with him, he took it a bit more to heart than was entirely good for him and probably more than was productive.

He moved his lips, muttering to himself in a low stream of Italian that Mila didn't entirely understand, but that made Sara frown.

“You weren’t perfect today,” she said, “you'll do better tomorrow.”

Yuuri looked up at them and managed a smile. “I know. Doesn't mean today's mess-ups aren't annoying.

It was endlessly fascinating to Mila how they both slipped into a rather heavy accent when talking in German to each other.

“If I may offer some distraction from the annoyance,” she chirped, “You are free on Sunday or did you forget and now already have to split your time between your sponsor and you sweetheart?”

Yuuri, only mildly blushing raised an eyebrow. “Phichit's on a fair in Leipzig. I guess, he'll be back on Monday or Tuesday.”

“Let's hope he has the good sense to bring back a few souvenirs,” Sara commented, “can't have your sponsor leaving you alone for a few days without him bringing back something nice for you and for you to share with your friends and colleagues.”

Yuuri raised another eyebrow. “Demanding, aren't we?” That was one of the funny things about him and something Mila really appreciated. Yuuri was shy, to the point that some people considered him either stupid or cold. His foreign looks and his Italian accent very often didn't help matters. However, the moment he decided he could relax around someone he was the most wonderful mixture of warmth, witty sarcasm and an occasional instance of bluntness. He was nice to be around.

Sara clicked her tongue and flashed him a smile. “Not at all, dear, I only ask you to exercise your rights as the protégé of a wealthy man, that's all.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes. “If you want a man to bring you sweets, tell him yourself. Don't do so too often, I hear it makes corsets sit pretty tight.”

Sara laughed.

“But yes, I am free on Sunday. Why do you ask?”

No comment on his lover? Mila hummed to herself. How interesting.

“Funny that you are talking about corsets,” she said, “you still need help lacing, right?”

In response, Yuuri made a face. “Yes.”

“Well, thank goodness that you got us,” she chuckled. “You come around at three?”

Yuuri blinked. “What?”

“I said we'd give you lessons, right?”, she chuckled. “Three is alright, right?”

“What... I...” Yuuri shook his head. “I thought you were joking.”

“I was, but then you agreed that you'd bring champagne as a payment,” Mila answered.

“There's no joking where there's champagne involved,” Sara added gravely.

Yuuri shook his head and muttered to himself, “Because of champagne...” Then, louder, though not so loud anyone around them would hear them, he asked, “Alright what do you want?”

Mila grinned. “Anything from a Meissen vineyard is good. I mean, it's really good stuff, best outside of France, if you ask me.”

Yuuri nodded. “Got it.” Then he sighed. “I have an inkling that it’s going to be expensive?”

“Well, you don’t have to go for the finest and most exclusive vintage so it won’t break your back, but yes, good stuff usually has a bit of a price,” Sara said.

   Mila nodded emphatically. “Yes, yes. We rarely ever get it, because of that. Usually, it's a gift or some payment for a favour of some sort, so you're simply upholding a decent, time-honoured tradition.”

Yuuri smiled dryly. “A tradition marked by fine taste I am sure?”

Sara chuckled. “What else can you expect from us?” From the side, she glanced at Mila and Mila felt her cheeks grow just a little warmer.

“So at three?” Yuuri asked.

She nodded. “See you Sunday.”

“And please,” Sara now added, “be a dear, don't talk too much about it. The last thing any of us needs is a rumour that you are having affairs with both of us.”

It was stupid, Sara knew it and Mila knew it. Some of the chorus singers did badger Yuuri on occasion about a girl he was ostensibly seeing and he occasionally answered in a rather vague, suspiciously non-committal way.

Yuuri sighed deeply. “God forbid people of different sexes to  meet in private for entirely innocent reasons, huh?”

Mila rolled her eyes. “Impossible this would ever happen.”

Impossible two women entirely uninterested in men would ever meet up with a man they considered very probably not interested in women at all and their conduct with each other would be entirely innocent and friendly.

It was so stupid.

 

It continued to be stupid on Sunday, when they stood at the window of their parlour, overlooking the street.

Yuuri stood on the opposite side, a piece of paper in his hand on which he occasionally looked before suddenly, finally lowering it and looking straight ahead at the building that contained their apartment.

“He looks out of place,” Sara chuckled.

“Not surprising,” Mila mused, “I bet this is his first time visiting two ladies as lovely as us. Or any person ascribing to womanhood.” She turned around to a small commode, took up a little bell and rang.

Only a moment later the door opened and a rather matronly woman in her thirties appeared in the door. The pale blue and white stripes of her dress, along with the spotless white apron and bonnet gave her rather pallid face a bit colour, not to mention that the dress emphasized her already generously measured bosom.

Trina claimed herself to be an example of dedication to the job and so she curtsied a little towards her two much younger and socially slightly unrespectful employers. “Yes, maddamms?” she asked without bothering to suppress her dialect.

Mila found it sometimes charming, sometimes annoying and in any case made her appreciate the fact that she was from Hannover, where traditionally there was very little to be had in regards to dialect, especially not in the well-off family of a wine-merchant. Dialects were charming, for sure, but they had too much of a taste of lower class people for Mila and the last thing a woman in her profession needed was giving off the suggestion she was in any way cheap.

“The bites we asked for are done?”

“In the kitchen, maddamm, I placed them on the table under a towel.”

“Thank you.”

“I made a few bezees from the remaining egg whites too,” Trina added, mispronouncing the word most certainly on purpose, “They are in a glass bowl next to it. Would you like some coffee to go with them, I already ground the beans and the water is on the stove.”

Sara laughed. “My, what would we do without you.”

“I shudder at the thought,” Trina replied wryly.

“Oh my, please don’t spend the whole day shuddering,” Mila said, “and rest assured that we can survive without you for a few hours at least.”

Trina raised an eyebrow. “A rather daring experiment.”

“Without risks, we never gain new knowledge and progress,” Mila said, smiling, “please, take the day off, at full pay of course.”

“Well, if the maddamms insist…”

“They do”, Sara said, “you deserve a bit rest. Maybe if we find someone to cover for you we could even give you a week or so in January.”

Trina almost succeeded in not showing her delight at that prospect; her face remained stern, but her eyes twinkled.

“So, this is a test run. If you come back tomorrow morning and don't find our slowly decaying corpses, we can do it,” Mila continued.

“I highly object to this sort of language, maddamm Mila,” Trina said. “Also, I don't think people can starve that quickly. Although you two are such thin fishes, maybe you'll prove me wrong on that.”

Sara chuckled. “Have a nice day, Trina.”

Trina curtsied again a little and then turned to leave. Already she was unlacing her apron strings.

Going out, going downstairs, she might run into Yuuri, take a look at him and maybe, hopefully, piece together that he was here to see them and it would calm her down. Her employers were not made for perpetual spinsterhood together. They had interests in men. Sometimes. It would buy them a few months before Trina would start to wonder again and they would have to do something. Maybe invite a few other men or go out with them. Maybe with a sponsor and then stay away until the early hours of the morning.

Among the theatre crowd, however, they could do without rumours about a three-way-affair between them and Yuuri.

In general, they could do without rumours calling them into doubt as prim and proper women who knew how to behave and what to do as women.

As they had agreed on Friday, it was stupid, so, so, so endlessly stupid.

“I'll see to the coffee, yes?” Sara said.

The doorbell rang.

“Please,” Mila said, “I think I am going to need a cup.” She headed for the door and opened it, turning her face up into a smile the moment she saw Yuuri.

“Hello, come in, come in!”

Yuuri obediently stepped over the doorstep. “Thank you again for having me.”

“Always and gladly.” Mila closed the door. “Sara's taking care of the coffee if you want some.”

“Thank you, much appreciated.” However, Yuuri looked already quite nervous, even shaking.

Maybe tea would have been the better idea.

“Say, do you have a maid?”

“We do. Gave her the day off, though.” Mila chuckled. “She left just before you came in. Did you meet her on the stairway?”

Yuuri made a face. “Yes. Honestly, she looked as if she was expecting she'd have to clean up the leftovers of an orgy tomorrow or something.”

“Aw.” Mila found it impossible to not blink at Yuuri with big, big eyes, just to see him squirm, “You're saying she won't have too?”

And as expected and hoped for, Yuuri's face took on a deep shade of red, but – far more surprising – it quickly faded again and throughout all of this his face continued to wear an expression of deep unimpressedness. “Mila, please.” He sighed. “I think we all know of each other where our tastes run, don't we?”

The air was leaving Mila's lungs all at once. “What?” And then insecurity flared up again, licking at her like flames on a log.

Don't say too much, those flames hissed and seared into her, don't trust too much, you never know who might betray you.

But still. But still. When it came down to it, she and Sara had so few real friends. One of Sara's patrons preferred female vestments in his leisure time, one of her was partial to men, as well as women. They could be somewhat out and in the open when only these two were around. Mila also knew that Sara had been a friend of Viktor Nikiforov and she knew how he had found his untimely and honestly quite tragic end.

Bottom line was, with very few exceptions, she could never know whether someone was trustworthy. It was a constant judging and testing and assessing and often enough they had done so much of it that a potential good friend had just quietly slipped out of their lives after a while. And it was still better than trusting the wrong people and suffering those results.

Still, there was a good chance that Yuuri was someone they could trust. And by God, Mila wanted to trust him, she wanted to trust anyone who might prove trustworthy. They had so few real friends, almost none, actually and Yuuri was a good sort.

He shrugged. “Just saying. Also, my love is very appreciative of the fact that you are giving me lacing lessons and sends warmest of regards. Can I come in?”

The insecurity was still strong, but Mila stepped aside. “Oh, yes, of course.”

“Good timing!” Sara called from the kitchen, “Coffee is ready, I'll bring it to the parlour!”

Mila led Yuuri to the room and waited until he had taken a seat. “I'll go change in the meantime.”

Yuuri blanched a little as if he only now remembered the purpose of his visit and nodded.

With a chuckle, Mila left for her and Sara's small bedroom and peeled herself out of her dress and then her day-to-day corset. A few of her underskirts followed – Yuuri needed to get a good idea of her actual figure in order to understand how the corset worked and would support his breathing.

She kept on her last underskirt of soft, off-white linen and a camisole, which, with a man around, meant that she was practically naked, especially since she was unlaced on top of it, that was what they were all here for, after all.

She grabbed her stage corset, a rather plain, unadorned thing made of cotton that once had been white, but years of wear, sweat and an occasional splash of blood, of textile dye from the costumes and of washing it together with not entirely white clothing had left an almost ivory or eggshell hue on it. And a few bloodstains had never quite washed out and went down her side in an almost decorative pattern of pale, brownish blot.

When she came back out to the parlour, Sara had set down in one of the plush armchairs she loved so much; they both had coffee cups in their hands; the plate with the snacks and the bowl with Trina's baisers stood on the small table between them.

Sara was actually lounging, legs drawn up on the armchair, body folded up in that cramped fashion that still looked so utterly relaxed.

She and Yuuri carried on a lively conversation in Italian that immediately came to a pause when Mila entered the room.

Yuuri looked up. His face blanched a bit as he saw her and – yes. Yes, he was staring. At least until Sara rather loudly cleared her throat.

Yuuri now turned beet red instead of white. “Oh. Sorry. Yes. Sorry.”

Mila chuckled dryly. Sometimes Sara could be so adorable. “Alright. Sara will demonstrate on me how to lace up someone else. Then you'll be lacing up her. At last, you'll be doing yourself.”

Yuuri shook his head. “You do know I'm Catholic, right, we don't do such stuff, too many added years in purgatory.”

Time to really test the waters. “Sara usually claims the same,” Mila declared with a grin.

“Because I am,” Sara protested.

“Maybe if you're sleeping, now will you please?”

Sara sighed, very deeply, very heavily and very dramatically. “If you insist...”

“I do. Why else would we be here?” Mila turned around. “Come on.”

She heard Sara get up from her armchair and walk up behind her.

“First of all, of course, put the thing on.” She lifted the corset over her head – like some holy artefact, really – and then lowered it onto her body. Then, with a snap, she closed it and turned her head to look at Yuuri over her shoulder.

“Obviously,” Yuuri commented. “Also, you'll adjust it so the planchet is in the middle of your vertical body.”

“I see you've paid attention.” Grinning, she turned back around, just as Sara was pulling the upper strings.

The force was palpable.

Mila took a deep breath and then released it, released it all the way, all the way down, all the way, all the way until her stomach was flat and halfway dead and she felt like an empty husk.

And then there was the pull.

It made Mila gasp and it took all of her strength to hold her own against the force that was pulling at her, pressing her in the form of Sara's hands working the strings of her corset.

Sara worked her way down on her, carefully, deliberately and methodically, as usual. It still felt different. Mila was keenly aware of the way the corset was hugging her, pressing her together, lifting her bust and cinching her waist even though that was not really it's purpose. But some waist cinching just came with the territory.

The fabric hugged her, pressed against her and she felt how it lifted her. Her shoulders were drawn back.

When she looked over her shoulder, she saw Yuuri sitting on the couch, watching her and Sara intently. His brow was furrowed and behind his glasses, his dark eyes followed any and every movement of Sara's hands.

He was focussed.

He was watching.

And most importantly, Mila noted, he was not staring now. He was observing how they showed him a valuable new skill.

“You will lace downwards, not to the middle, not upwards,” Sara explained right now. “And you will want to take care that the rods with the lacing eyelets remain in straight lines. They will form a V when you lace for stage. Usually, when we lace ourselves up for everyday business or for evenings, they form two parallel lines. But V. We focus on the V, understood?”

“Understood,” Yuuri said.

“Good.” Sara pulled again and this time, Mila gasped.

Damn. This felt nice. Most of the time, the thing she enjoyed most about the corset was the moment she could finally take it off and feel her body spread out a little.

But sometimes, just sometimes – and usually at times like this – oh, at such times the process of lacing up was almost as delightful.

And in such moments, at least in the safety of their bedroom they interrupted the lacing up for a bit but considering they had an audience today this maybe wasn't the most appropriate thing to do.

She felt some last pulls and then Sara tied the knot. “You put the knot as close to your back as possible, of course.”

“Of course,” Yuuri said.

“And finally, you tuck the tail under the lacing, in case you wear a very form-fitting costume. So, since you are a man you can go with the easier route and just wrap and tie it around your waist.”

Mila took the tail from Sara's hands and placed it like a belt around her waist in two tight loops, before taking the end, pulling it around the loops and then tying a simple knot. “There you go. It is tight and won't just slip open on its own but it is also pretty easy to loosen again.”

“You understood that all?” Sara asked.

Yuuri nodded. “I think so.”

“Great!” Mila clapped her hands. “Then as soon as my lovely assistant is ready you will be allowed near her and lace her up in turn.”

Sara gave them a mocking curtsy before disappearing towards the bedroom and change into her undergarments.

Mila in the meantime occupied he former spot in the armchair. “I should have brought something with me, a shawl maybe, it is quite breezy around the shoulders.”

“Uh...” Yuuri quickly took off his jacket and offered it to her. “Would this do in the meantime?”

And here Mila had always thought that truly courteous men had died out. Apparently she was wrong and naturally, the first example she met in a long time was not for the female half of the world.

“Thank you.” Smiling she took the jacket and quickly snuggled into it. Yes, nice and warm, very nice.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, “That thing seems quite tight.”

“It's very fine. And don't worry, it's only so tight for demonstration. I rarely ever actually wear it like this when I sing. That gets really uncomfortable really soon.”

Yuuri made a face. Oh, he was adorable. Mila was half of a mind to adopt him. “I can imagine.”

“That's why I never laced you up too tightly when you needed me to,” she said, “but isn't it a wonderful feeling when you finally get to take it off?”

For this, she got a rather enthusiastic nod. “Oh god, yes!”

She chuckled. “I hope your darling can elicit similar reactions from you.”

Yuuri smiled at this, but Mila very clearly could see him blush.

“Where did you meet? At the theatre? Someone from the ballet? Or perhaps the chorus?”

“Oh...” Yuuri shook his head. “No. Doesn't work at the theatre. Thank goodness, I think...” He paused and looked at her very long and very measured.

“What do you think?” Mila asked.

“I think,” Yuuri said, very slowly and Mila got the feeling he was thinking very carefully about every word, “I think we would be even worse than you two.” With that, he nodded towards the direction in which Sara had disappeared.

Then he returned his gaze to her and they looked each other in the eye.

Mila swallowed and then, finally asked, “That obvious?”

“Uh, well, if you want to be more obvious, maybe you should start kissing on stage. Mr Feltsman will be delighted.”

Oh dear.

Oh, the image, the image, Mila just could not help it but giggle at it. Oh dear...

“I'm sure of that and imagine poor Johannes Erhardt...” To be fair though, Johannes Erhardt would probably look at them, get over his surprise and then quickly move on to in the future invite them to any friendly gatherings without the notion of them being free to bring someone for company.

Sara came back in her undergarments and her stage corset in hand. Dramatic as she was, it was, of course, black, with the decorative flossing in red; however, years of wear and sweat had left their traces here as well, in the form of slightly bleached, reddish spots and lines.

Again, Yuuri stared for a bit and Mila extended a foot to kick him in the shin.

She was rewarded with a rather annoyed “Ow, Mila!” and a dark glare from Yuuri.

Sara shook her head. “Children, please, no blood stains on the carpet, poor Trina will never let us hear the end of it. Yuuri, if you would, please.”

Yuuri got up from his seat and stepped behind Sara.

“V-shape, remember, you lace me a V on the back,” she said and Yuuri nodded and watched as she put the corset on.

First thing he did was tightening the lacing a bit, enough that the corset sat snugly on her body. “That's alright?” he asked nervously.

“Quite so,” Sara chirped back, “Are you sure you never laced anyone up before?”

“I'll have you know that I know what ton of jokes I am opening with my answer and will admit that no, this is my first time doing this.”

Mila chortled.

Sara squealed. “Oh dear, we should have done this sooner, I can't believe we kept the knowledge of these pleasures from you for so long...”

Maybe their neighbours above would hear and report to Trina what scandalous things her employers were up to. That would give them a few additional days, maybe even weeks of peace.

“Alright,” Sara finally said, “now let's get actually busy, I would say? Tighten me up. As you've been shown. Start from the waist and work yourself up- yes, good!” she cheered on as Yuuri put his hands on her, tucked on the strings and then pulled, eye line by eye line, but by bit, up.

“Good, good, keep it even and do it slow, good!” Sara praised as Yuuri reached the upper eye lines and then returned to the ones at the bottom.

He worked carefully, Mila noticed, intent on doing it right and not causing unnecessary discomfort. Not to mention that his fingers might very often brush against Sara's body, but she still never got any other impression from him than someone who was professionally learning.

It helped that he was apologizing every other moment to Sara for whenever he accidentally touched her bare skin or rested his palm against her waist.

“It really is alright,” Sara exclaimed after a while, “it really it is alright, believe me, Yuuri, I know the difference between someone feeling me up and someone brushing against me, no need to worry! Although your constant apologies would point any indecisive git towards the direction of the latter.”

“Thank you. I think,” Yuuri replied, “Alright?” He continued to lace her up.

And finally, finally, Sara once again broke the awkward silence with her sweet, lovely, lovely voice as she said, “I never told you how I actually got here, didn't I?”

“No,” Yuuri replied, “not really.” And of course, he asked, “please, tell me.”

“Well, it has been a few years, I think you can hear it on my accent. I have gotten quite German in my words.”

“You did,” Yuuri agreed.

Mila noticed that, once again, both of them had slipped back into the accents of their formative regions. At least she assumed a difference to be between the dialects and subsequent accents of Neapolitan and Milanese.

“It has been quite a few years – don't laugh!” Sara interrupted herself as Yuuri started to chuckle, “I am not as young as I look, this is all the power of the blood of virgins I regularly sacrifice to my Lord and Master Satan.”

“Because she is such a good Catholic, you know,” Mila felt obliged to comment.

“I know,” Yuuri sighed, “guess why I left Japan and tried to get to Europe. I burnt through all the virgins Japan had to offer.”

This earned him another laugh from Sara. “Oh dear, Yuuri, if you continue like this we will never get done with this!”

“In that case,” Yuuri sighed, “I suggest you pull yourself together and we get through this as quickly as possible, so we all may be able to laugh our heads off very soon?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Mila chimed in.

Sara took a deep breath. “Alright. Alright, let's go on.” She calmed down again. “Well, go on.”

Yuuri took up the laces again and pulled and released and pulled and pulled and released and pulled again.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

Sara's shoulders moved a little. “Very much alright.”

Yuuri continued to work on her.

At last Sara asked, “Have I ever told you how I actually ended up here?”

“No, never,” Yuuri answered.

His touch was calm, Mila noticed, and very gentle, but still firm and – she was surprised she could spot it so easily – rather professional, refusing to linger any longer than ultimately necessary.

“Me and my brother, we grew up in Napoli,” Sara said, “our whole life, our parents adored us, sometimes him more than me, sometimes it was the other way around and they were good people and everything. But also a little – well, dull, as dull as a well-situated merchant family can be. They gave us practically everything we wanted. We were pretty spoiled and pretty soon pretty bored with it. So we got enrolled at a nice musical conservatory and then later took up professional work on stage. Imagine the shock.”

“Sorry. Can't,” Yuuri said, “grew up in the milieu, it is.”

“It was a big shock,” Sara sighed. “I and Michele grew even closer over it, especially in the years when our parents wouldn't talk to us over it.”

She had alluded to this before but never mentioned it directly and Mila was almost hurt if it hadn't been for the fact that Sara didn't dwell on it.

“Anyways, I and Michele got our engagements. We sang. We impressed people. We got successful. And Michele got clingy.”

This part of the story Mila was familiar with.

“So I kindly asked him one day if he didn't think he should get married, he was young after all and he would surely want a wife he could love and lavish all his attention on, right?” she finished in a tone that begged for agreement

“Right,” Yuuri thus said obediently.

“Ha!”, Sara laughed, “wrong! He just looked at me and got really pale and almost started crying. And then he asked whether I was planning to get married – ha! As if! As if seven and ten years of growing up together hadn't taught him any bloody thing about me, first that I am...” And now, she took a breath. “Well. I guess you figured out, I am not the marrying kind.”

Again Mila held her breath.

Yuuri carefully continued to lace her up. “Yes, it is pretty obvious to me. If it is any comfort to you, me neither.”

Finally. Finally a clear admission – or as clear as it could be when it was riddled with and carried by innuendo and suggestion.

Sara let out a deep breath. “Indeed. Well, Mila and I thought something like that-”

“Mila informed me of that fact,” Yuuri said, “sorry for not saying anything earlier, it's... well.”

“It's quite alright.” Mila shrugged and reached for a baiser. “I mean, I didn't outright admit anything either, so it's only fair.”

“Always funny how people like us seem to find each other, right?” Sara chirped, “of course, that doesn't mean one has to be best friends, of course not, but it is one person more one can be honest with. Anyways – oh, dear boy, not that tight so quickly.”

Yuuri released a few strings of the corset again. “Sorry.”

“You are learning. Anyways, Michele threw one fit of epic proportions. A Greek God would have been proud of him. Of course, he was not the only one to do so, after all, why would only he get to have all the fun throwing fits?”

Yuuri laughed.

“Well, when Cheliccino throws a fit, his usual pars the course is to get drunk and later end up in bed with someone. When I throw a fit, I pack all my stuff and leave.”

Yuuri snorted. “You ended up in Dresden because you were annoyed with your brother?”

Sara shrugged. “It is as good a reason as any other, would you not say?”

“What's he doing now?”

Sara shrugged. “I have no clear idea, I have to admit. The last thing I heard, he went to the USA, probably trying to establish something there. He always wanted to build up a theatre of his own. But that was two months ago as well, so who knows how things are now.”

“Your brother sounds fun,” Mila commented. “I'd like to meet him.”

Sara glared over her shoulder. “No. No, you don't. Trust me, you do not want to meet him.”

What? Mila furrowed her brow. “Then at least hear more about him? You don't talk much about your family.”

Sara didn't answer that. Instead, she continued, “In any case, a bit later I ended up here, my recommendations, my voice and the fact that I managed to charm the underpants off Johannes Erhardt and his wife, bless their souls got me a solo and my own, small dressing room. Now, you have already noticed that the dressing rooms are not segregated by sex, right, Yuuri?”

“Which is probably the reason Mila can pop up in mine without too much trouble,” Yuuri commented.

Mila really wanted to adopt him. Was there a way for her to adopt a grown man?

“Well, guess who managed to run into the wrong dressing room to change, right before her debut on our dignified, honourable stage?”

“Oh dear,” Yuuri sighed.

“Quite, especially since dear Viktor Nikiforov had the first violinist bent over his vanity.”

Yuuri's eyes widened. “Viktor Nikiforov?”

“Heard of him, huh?” Mila asked.

“Well, the name gets thrown around on occasion,” Yuuri said, “And Yura talks about the man sometimes. When he is in a less eye-scratchy mood than normal.”

“You call him by a nickname only ever a Russian was allowed to use,” Sara remarked. “He must be in a non-eye-scratchy mood pretty often if you ask me.”

“Maybe. He still is quite liberal with his bad mood, though.” Yuuri now took up the laces and started pulling again. “This is alright?”

“Great, yes.” Sara ran a hand over her sides. “Good he can talk about him, though,” she said then. “Viktor's death was pretty hard on him.”

Yuuri nodded wistfully as if he knew what Sara was talking about.

“Not to mention that Viktor was the only one who could keep this little pest in check, sometimes. Well, he and Mr Feltsman.”

Again Yuuri nodded. “Thank goodness Mr Feltsman is still around, huh?”

“Yes, but he worried us too, for quite a while,” Sara said. “Didn't take it well either, though better than one would have expected... well, you've heard the story, I suppose.”

“Pretty often.” Yuuri shook his head. “Disgusting.”

Mila saw how Sara's shoulders clenched up, just a little.

“It was,” she said. “I was of a mind to leave, because – what man acts like...” She took a breath. “Mr Wagner acted truly reprehensible. If you ask me, he could have strung up Viktor with his own hands. Or pushed him from a bridge or... or whatever the way was Viktor used to...” She took another deep breath. “Sorry. I... I think I do not cope well with friends of mine killing himself because of reasons that could have been entirely avoidable.”

Mila got up and walked over to her, hugging her tightly. “It's alright, dear, it's alright,” she said, while Sara sighed deeply against her neck. “It's alright.” She noticed that Yuuri carefully put a hand on Sara's shoulder.

Sara took a deep breath. “Sorry. Again, I...” She took another breath. “Well, Richard Wagner wasn't exactly my favourite person after that.”

“Understandable,” Yuuri said, “And I've also heard that this feeling was mutual.”

“Well, he didn't like me much before either,” Sara shrugged. “I was not pale enough for him I suppose. But then again, not even those who are up to his progeny standards don't have an easy life with him. Greatest fun was to annoy Richard Wagner, really.”

“I smell stories,” Yuuri said, “please, tell!”

“Lace a bit more, yes?” Sara asked.

Yuuri did so and Sara took a few moments to think about what to tell.

“One time he pissed us off – I mean, he constantly pissed us off, all of us, but he had a particular beef with Viktor. In any case, one day he was in an exceptionally bad mood and riled us all up and I and Viktor were still relatively young, he hadn't had all that many lead roles yet and I had been in Dresden for maybe five months, so – yeah. We messed up. I messed up, Viktor messed up, Johannes – Erhardt, I mean, not your friend – messed up, Klara Bergmann messed up – she was another soprano back then. Quit two months later, poor girl.”

“Why did she?”

Sara sighed. “Because of that man.”

“Ah. I see.” Yuuri nodded. “So, the performance went belly up?”

“It had begun to rot and stink by the time we were done, but in our defence, it wasn't only us who messed up, the chorus was frazzled, the ballet was upset – it was terrible. Don't take it the wrong way, but it was terrible enough that you would have quit on the spot.”

“I don't think you need all that to get me there,” Yuuri remarked dryly. “You know me and my nerves.”

“There are worse cases out there,” Sara commented, “granted, not many, but...”

Mila thought it best to intervene. “So, you busted the performance.”

“And the best course of action is to find good and equally miserable company and then get thoroughly drunk,” Sara laughed. “Viktor was probably the least smattered of us, but well, he was Russian, I think half of their blood is actually vodka. And of course, guess who we run into as we sway and swagger through the streets.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. He was in the same tavern as us and – well, we ran out and ran through the streets as fast as we could and down to the river to take a bath. That day saw the ruin of a few waistcoats, shirts, dresses and corsets and – a certain inn of course.”

Yuuri chuckled. Not that Sara had told it in a particularly funny way, but the idea of it all, the image of Viktor drunkenly swaggering through the streets, not a care in the world, surrounded by friends.

Also, the idea of drunkenly running into your much-hated director was in itself chuckle-worthy.

“Yes, I think you would have liked Viktor. Of course, one would have to deliberately exercise a lot of energy t not like Viktor. On the other hand, it would be just as hard to dislike someone as sweet as you – pardon me, no offence?”

“Not at all,” Yuuri shook his head. “Who would ever take offence at being called sweet?”

Mila laughed. “That's why you are sweet.”

“Yes,” Sara sighed, wistfully, “I think you and Viktor would have gotten along wonderfully. With him, one always needed some patience for his... quirks.”

Yuuri, for some reason, laughed at that.

If Sara noticed it she ignored it. “You can lace it just a little tighter. I will say when it is enough.”

Yuuri did. He pulled and held and laced and finally said, “Well, it's closed now, I think I'll tie the knot?”

“Can do,” Mila declared from her spot. “Looks good enough,” she added, just to send one long look to Sara as she said this and Sara grinned back to her.

Yuuri’s fingers were a bit clumsier than Mila’s and he was more careful, slower, but that was fine and then he let go. “I am done. I think.”

Sara turned around. “So? How did it go?” she asked, taking in Yuuri’s pensive, careful expression.

He didn’t answer right away. “Well, I think… fine? I mean, I knew what I had to do, I got good instructions and once I knew where to pull and hold and what to do, it wasn’t all that hard. Was it alright?”

Sara took a breath. Yes. Worked. “Yes. Good, I can work with that.” She ran her hands over her sides. “Yes, definitely good. Mila, can you-”

Mila didn’t have to let her finish before she reached out and handed her her blouse.

Sara felt her face melt into a fluid smile. “Thank you.” And then, while putting on the blouse, she turned to Yuuri. “Well then. Your turn.”

“What?”

“You heard me, come on.” She shook out her hair. “Get out of those clothes, yes?”

Yuuri actually took a step back from her. “But…”

“Trust me, you don’t want to lace a corset over a buttoned shirt, trust me,” Sara said.

“There is a story behind this and I don’t think I want to hear it,” Yuuri said.

“Then believe me and get out of these damn clothes,” Sara declared.

“But…”

“Come on, undress!” Mila demanded from her seat. “Or I will.”

“No!”

Mila rolled her eyes. “Come on, It's not like I've never seen you in only your underthings before.”

“That was two times,” Yuuri argued.

“And they were entirely enough for me.”

“Then why do you want to relive the experience?”

Mila grinned. “Because you are so skittish about it, that’s why.”

“You know her,” Sara sighed. “You undress by yourself or she does it and she will the only person here to enjoy it, mark my words.”

Yuuri let his gaze wander towards Sara and then Mila.

Mila was grinning.

And Yuuri sighed, lowered his head and in a show of resignation and - Sara grinned - shrugged off his jacket and then his waistcoat. It was a nice waistcoat too, with subtle, purple embroidery on dark blue.

Mila made a mental note that she had to find out about Yuuri’s tailor and from Yuuri’s tailor about the fabric. She definitely wanted to see Sara in that fabric.

Yuuri got rid of his trousers now as well, standing there in only his undershirt and long johns and glowering at them.

“You move around a lot, huh?” Sara commented

Mila took a close look at his figure. Yuuri was by design on the smaller side, with slim shoulders. He wasn’t thin by any means. If he wasn’t careful in the coming years he also would very likely develop quite a gut, but right now, he just was all smooth, soft lines, not too much excess fat, definitely no hard edges, and slim legs.

Yuuri shrugged. “From the boarding house to the theatre it’s a walk of half an hour and I like to sometimes go to the city between rehearsal and performance.” Now he grinned. “And dealing with Plisetsky takes a lot of energy too, I guess.”

Mila suppressed a giggle. “Oh yes. I have the theory that we all would be at least five stones heavier if it wasn’t for him and his charming ways.”

Yuuri sighed. “I'm actually inclined to agree.” He grabbed his corset. “So. Let's get it over with.”

“Make sure the front closes over the middle of your torso,” Mila advised. “That thing has to sit properly or it will hurt.”

Yuuri did as he was told an was smart enough to sling the lacing over the door handle. “Anything else I’ll have to keep in mind?” he asked.

“Lace for the stage,” Sara said promptly. “Wide chest, narrow waist. Lace as tight as you feel fine with, no more.”

“Alright.”

“Occasionally feel the back side panel,” Mila added. “Just to make sure that it’s still straight, you know, you’re the one who’s supposed to get the curve, not the panel.”

She watched as Yuuri followed the advice, laced, loosened, corrected, laced again.

He paused.

“How do you feel?” Mila asked.

“Kind of alright?” Yuuri ran a hand over his side.

It didn't look alright to Mila and she clucked her tongue. “Take a few deep breaths. Into your stomach, if you can.”

Yuuri tried and did.

“Too loose,” Sara declared.

“What?” Yuuri stared at her. “Seriously?!”

“Yes,” Sara declared without hesitation. “Much too loose, trust me.”

Yuuri had the cheek to argue with them. “It doesn't feel loose, though. Sits pretty tight even.”

Why were men such gigantic babies when it came to experiencing some mild discomfort women dealt with on a daily basis? Mila took a deep breath. “If you can still breath into your stomach without trouble,” she then explained, as slowly as explanations to children were supposed to be, “then it is not tight enough and will not give you the support you need. And then you could ditch it entirely.”

“Ugh, really!”

“When I say so!”

Yuuri still grumbled, but at the very least, all Mila had to do was giving him a very dark look for him to take up his work again. “How did you two get together by the way?”, he then asked, so casually, that Mila was sure it was his revenge for being forced into tighter lacing, despite it being only for his own well-being.

She thought about her answer for a moment, probably a moment too long, since Sara was faster with her reply.

“She started as my understudy, she has a lovely voice, she is adorable, beautiful, cute…”

“Turning red,” Mila mumbled and covered her ears.

“And she spent time with me, cheered me up and reminded me to eat lunch or dinner, so I obviously had no choice but to fall irrevocably in love with her.”

“I had the good sense to wait with that until her disinterest in the male population was very evident,” Mila recalled with a smile. “Once I had obtained that knowledge it was quite pathetic how easily I fell for her and tried my best to woo her..” She got up and came over to Yuuri to inspect his work.

“Good?”

It was still a bit too loose, but Mila felt generous today. “Yes, it will do. You’ll find yourself whether you want to lace it a bit tighter later on, but for practise purposes, this works well enough. Of course, you can tighten it a little more if you feel like it,” she added.

Yuuri glanced at her. “So, I should tighten it?”

Well, at least he was smart.

Mila nodded. “Would be wisest.”

Yuuri sighed and took his work up once more.

Mila rewarded him by continuing with her tale. “An entirely unwise course of action was me deciding to woo he without being too obvious.”

“I’d argue that is actually a rather wise move,” Yuuri remarked dryly. “Less troublesome overall.”

“And it took me months of dinner and wine together and finally outright yelling it into her face until she got it,” Mila grumbled.

“You weren’t yelling,” Sara chimed in. “You were desperately squeezing the words out and I stared at you like a cow when thunder hits.”

Yuuri chuckled at the image.

Sara sent Mila a smile. “And also you were utterly adorable.”

Mila resisted the urge to rush over and hug her and press her to her chest. “As were you,” she said instead.

“And now I need to brush my teeth from all that sweetness,” Yuuri remarked. “That’s adorable. really adorable.”

“I know,” Mila chirped.

Yuuri went on with his lacing.

“So,” Mila finally found it the right time to ask, “now, Yuuri, won’t you tell us how you met your man? Whoever he might be.”

Yuuri paused and furrowed his brow, just a little.

He was silent for a long, long time and then he said, “Well, I fell in love with his voice first. Warm, strong and sweet and full and…” His face melted into such a sweet, warm, gooey smile that Mila felt like brushing her teeth herself. “Well, then I got to know him better and he’s pretty much like his voice promised.”

That wasn’t an answer to the question Mila had asked, but if Yuuri didn’t want to answer, that had to be fine, she decided.

“How is he?” Sara asked now in her chair. “Tell us about him.”

Yuuri blew up his cheeks. “Well. He is… he is creative. Excentric, adoring, adorable. And intelligent and passionate-”

“I believe that,” Mila grinned.

Yuuri flushed, but then he grinned. “Yes, that too.”

It caused Sara to chortle.

“And he… he can be silent with me. We don’t have to talk all the time, sometimes we can just sit together and be silent for so long and…” He looked down on his hands, smiling.

“Aw. Look at him,” Sara sighed, “he’s actually in love!”

“What else,” Yuuri grinned, “of course I am!”

Yes, Mila definitely needed to brush her teeth now. “You’re in love,” she grinned. “You’re really in love with that guy.”

And Yuuri nodded. “Yes. Very much so and by now I… well, I don’t think that’ll ever change and…”

“Madre Maria,” Sara sighed, “You’re down for marriage, actually, oh dear!”

Yuuri looked to her and then grinned. “I guess. Need a ring and a priest though.”

“I can look into that for you if you want,” Sara offered, “well, into the priest thing, I bet I could get myself ordained.”

Yuuri raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you a little too female for that?”

Sara shrugged. “Where there’s a will, there be a way.”

Her beloved, Mila sighed, was terrifying. Beautiful, intelligent, wonderful, sweet and terrifyingly determined.

“Well, alright then. Yuuri, tell me, how does the corset feel?” Sara asked now.

Yuuri took a few breaths. “Yes. Yes, that works.”

“How does it feel?” Mila asked.

“Kind of tight,” Yuuri admitted, “really tight, even, I mean…”

“It’s not tighter than how I laced you the last time,” Mila declared.

“I know. It’s still restricting,” Yuuri argued.

“Try to breathe,” Mila declared.

Yuuri breathed in.

“How do you feel?”

“Still restricted. Kind of focussed.”

“Good. You’ll find it easier to work with the restriction then. Adapt your breathing and your movements and such,” Mila said.

Yuuri nodded and then took a few more breaths.

“Warm up, will you?”

“I thought this was only about the lacing!” Yuuri protested, the ingrate.

Mila sighed. Maybe it was a little overdramatic the way she sighed, she admitted herself, but that’s what she was an opera singer for. “And how, dear boy will you know whether you laced it just right so sing with it when you don’t sing while wearing it?”

Yuuri still made a face, but then sighed and started with a few breathing exercises, followed by a few harmonies.

He furrowed his brow when he was done.

“So?” Sara asked from her perch, “what do you think?”

“I don’t drop to my stomach with my breathing,” Yuuri answered. “Which is good. I think. I usually drop to my stomach when I sing in baritone. Celestino hated it when this happened without me wanting to.

“The curse of a freakishly wide voice range,” Mila snarked, “poor thing you.”

“I need to have some advances over pretty, talented ingenues,” Yuuri retorted. “And when Dear God gave me the choice between a moderately Western face and a decent voice, I decided that Western faces are overrated.”

Mila chuckled. “Or you just were compensated for the trouble of having your face when living here. So. Sing.”

Yuuri hummed. “Any wishes?”

“Something bawdy,” Sara demanded. “Like Caspar’s drinking song from the Freischütz. Or… do you know… _La domenica andando alla massa_?”

Yuuri sighed and shook his head. “I know it and I won't sing it. Really - you always look so innocent and sweet and proper.”

“And you look like you were into women,” Sara retorted. “Now look at us both.”

Yuuri chuckled. “Got me there. “Mila, do you have any wishes?”

“Riches, a large villa, twenty cats,” Mila answered and shot a look to Sara.

Her lover just shrugged. “We talk about the cats when we have the villa, we talk about the villa when we have the riches.”

Same reply as usual. Mila sighed. “Va, Pensiero then, that always sounds nice.”

Also, Yuuri usually sang it in his baritone, it would be a nice challenge for him.

Yuuri smiled and took a breath. “Va, Pensiero, sull’ali dorate...”

While he sang Sara unfolded and rose from her seat, grabbed a blouse and shrugged it on and with soft, silent steps moved past them into the kitchen. She emerged with the two bottles of champagne Yuuri had brought and held them up, grinning.

"O simile di Solima ai fati traggi un suono di crudo lamento, o t’ispiri il Signore un concento che ne infonda al patire virtù."

“That sounded nice,” she declared and placed the bottles on their small table, before turning back to the kitchen. “How does it feel?”

“Interesting. Again, quite restricting, but… I can work with it, I guess.”

“That’s the only thing that makes restrictions even remotely fun,” Sara drawled as she returned with three small, crystal goblets. “Look at these, I’ve been waiting for a chance to make use of them!” she declared, holding one up for them to admire how the light broke in them into drops of rainbow, splattering over her hands.

“Oh, they are a delight!” Yuuri exclaimed.

“They are,” Sara grinned. “I got them from a patron. He said Well, Sara, my dear, either you share my bed and are taken care of for the next few months or I at least have these nice goblets for you, and well, I was in need of new champagne goblets.”

Yuuri laughed and then looked at the glasses and the bottles of champagne on the table. “Oh no, no, you shouldn't.”

“Why not?” Sara asked, putting the glass down again. “It’s good champagne, it should be enjoyed in good company, especially since said good company paid for it.”

Yuuri chucked. “You say that to any man you give lacing lessons to?”

“Only when they bring champagne,” Mila grinned.

Sara opened the first bottle with a loud pop. “And when they are safe to spend time alone with while wearing only underskirts, chemises and maybe corsets.” She carefully poured the first round of drink for them and handed out the glasses.

Yuuri raised his to them. “The feeling is very mutual.”

“Dear,” Sara said, “can we keep him? I promise I feed him every day.”

Mila chortled into her glass.

Yuuri coughed. “You will do no such thing,” he said, “there are people who’d strongly object to this.”

Mila immediately jumped to it. “Oh, tell us about it,” she declared, taking a sip.

“Yes, do tell,” Sara joined.

Was Yuuri blushing? “I already did, I am sure,” he said and took another sip.

“Not nearly enough,” Mila declared.

“Enough for now.” Yuuri chuckled and downed his glass.

Sara quickly refilled it, emptied her own glass and poured herself more champagne too.

Yuuri didn’t touch his drink for now. “You’re awfully curious.”

Mila handed her glass to Sara and took it back refilled and with a smile for her. “Of course. The love life of other people is always an awfully fascinating matter. Especially when it’s the love life of a new friend.”

He cocked his head and now took a sip from his glass.

“And please, boy, sometimes you two will fight, trust me, no matter how happy you are, you will occasionally clash and then you’ll need someone to vent to about it, so you can make up and do better,” Mila continued.

Yuuri raised an eyebrow. “I take you two fight too, then?”

“Rarely,” Sara admitted, “but it happens.”

“Whom do you vent to then?” Yuuri asked.

“Yuri,” Mila answered at the same time as Sara.

“Poor boy,” Yuuri commented.

“He’s a tough cookie and in a while, he’ll come ranting to us about his love life,” Sara said, “Or to you. He’ll be happy to consider it payback then.”

Yuuri chuckled. “I’ll think about it when it comes to that. Until then – let’s say I hope to introduce you sometime. Right now things are...” He paused and shifted his weight a little in his seat. “It’s complicated.”

Married man, Mila decided. Poor fellow. It was probably best not to comment on it.

“We hold you up to it,” Sara said after a moment and raised her glass to it.

“Better sooner than later,” Mila added.

Yuuri smiled. “As soon as possible,” he agreed as they clinked their glasses together, the sweetest, loveliest tone escaping, bubbling through the air carrying with it the whiff of champagne.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Fluffy. I decided to dub this thing fluffy.
> 
> The song Sara mentiones is an Italian folk song about a young woman who is sent to the nunnery by her parents to stop her from having so many affairs. It's not the raunchiest thing I found looking for Italian Raunchieness (that one goes to "Lu primmo ammore" - it's great, check it out!), but the raunchiest that was around in the 1840s.  
> (really, Italian songs are something else. Look at them.)


End file.
